


Welcome Home, Captain

by acesandapricots



Series: Kinktober 2020 [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fondling, Foreplay, Lingerie, Masturbation, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesandapricots/pseuds/acesandapricots
Summary: Natasha is getting herself ready to surprise her lover when he comes home.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Series: Kinktober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958257
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Welcome Home, Captain

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to sub in whomever you choose in place of Steve Rogers in this fic. When I was writing it, Steve just kind of showed up and wouldn't leave, but this fic is truly Natasha-centric. It doesn't matter to me who she's getting ready for/who walks through the door at the end!
> 
> This fic was written for the Kinktober 2020 challenge (prompt: lingerie).
> 
> My everlasting thanks to [whitmans_kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitmans_kiss/) for beta reading!

She runs her fingers under the straps crossing her collarbone, her skin tingling, her hands lingering where her breasts swell beneath tight lace, touching the delicately frayed line between bare skin and tantalizing coverage.

Her fingers flutter to the hem of the chemise, dancing along the lacy edge where it lays across her belly. She slides her fingers under the edges of her garter belt. With a _snap_ she lets the elastic tap harshly against her skin, flushing pink at the delicious bite of pain.

Slowly, she runs a hand even lower, tracing languid circles over the long, soft edges of her thigh… her knee… her nylon-covered shins… until she touches the silver lock at the top of her ankle. The soft chime of the metal padlock as it twists, dangling from the shiny chain of her stiletto boot sends a shiver through her. With a _click_ , she closes the padlock in place, running her finger slowly around the immovable metal before drawing it up, up, up her body and to her lips. She imagines the hard taste of cold steel on her fingers, drawing them over her tongue.

With one foot locked to the chair below her, she begins to caress the skin of her back, of her arms, of her legs, feeling the delicious friction of her rough palms and soft fabric playing against her firm muscles. She traces figure-eights on her inner thigh with the edges of her fingernails, leaving angry red loops of sensitized skin behind.

She flattens her palms and runs them along the curves of her thighs, massaging the blushing skin, wrapping her fingers over her garters and pushing her thumbs down into the valley of her legs. She feels the heat from her core, moist and sticky and hot. She doesn’t touch. She lets her thumbs skim through her prickly curls and then move away, back across the skin of her thighs, back to the too-tight garters, using her thumbnails to scrape against the already-pink skin.

She moves her hands down again, slowly inching her way towards her free ankle, dancing fingers across the thin nylon of her stockings. Another _click_ and she is attached to the chair, legs spread, bound until he releases her. Then her hands are in her hair, massaging and scraping at her scalp, and she allows herself the luxury of a moan as her soft, tight curls dance through and around her fingers.

She arches her back, feeling the tight satin chemise pull on her nipples and the silk laces across her back stretch against her skin. She moves one hand down to cup her own breast, feeling the fabric slide between her palm and the hard bud. She pinches, hard, and gasps at the mixture of pain and pleasure that shoots through her at the contact. Her breaths are coming faster now. Agonizingly slowly, she draws her fingernail over her areola, above the lace, teasing the pebbled skin into painful hardness.

Her eyes close with a shudder and she forces them back open. She moves her other hand down from where it is twisted in her hair, trailing heat from her fingertips over her scalp, to her lips, to her neck, where it pauses for a heartbeat and a breath, before moving down to cup her other breast and then continue on, snaking down til she twists her wrists through the chains circling the arm of the chair.

She lets her arm lie there, flexing under the cool links of steel, while her other hand continues its ministrations to her breast. Kneading, pinching, stroking, palming… until her breath hitches with need and she pulls away. She dips her free hand into the cavity between her breasts, her fingers trailing fire over her sensitized skin, withdrawing a small silver padlock, warm to the touch. With a flick it springs open, and then she clicks it shut around her wrist, locking the long, twisting chains together and trapping her wrist securely. She takes a long, shuddering breath.

She runs her free hand again over her body - up through her loose, curly hair, across her back, covered in stretchy ties and laces, up from her waist over the satin covering her chest, and then down, down, following the line of the garters to the edges of the stockings just above her knees. She teases at the lacy edge, drawing her fingers under the garter clip of one stocking, then the other, covering the indented skin with light scratches. The clips rub against the irritated skin, sending a pleasurable thrill through her body with every slight movement.

One thing more. Slowly, she brings her hand back to her core, her fingers sliding over the wet surface of the chair until they find purchase on the small padlock she had placed there hours ago. It hangs open in her grasp, slick with her fluids. Slowly, she places it in her mouth, sucking it clean, sweetness mixing with the tang of the metal on her tongue. With a _pop_ she releases it, her lips covered in flecks of saliva.

Carefully, she slides her balled fist through the tight chains wrapped around the other arm of the chair, goosebumps rising on her arm where it touches the metal, ice sliding along her hot skin. She opens her hand, twists her wrist, and… _click_ , the last padlock snaps into place.

She squirms in her bonds. The satin of her chemise tugs against her nipples. The garters dig into her skin. She can still taste the echo of metal on her tongue. She feels a flutter of air against her hot, exposed groin. She rocks herself forward and backward on the chair, reveling in the chime of her chains and the movement of the fabric against her skin.

A key in the lock… the creak of a hinge… the light flicks on in the hall, filtering through the crack in the door in front of her. She waits, silently, as she sees his shadow expanding across the floorboards. Then suddenly, he is there in front of her, his arm holding the door wide, her panties crumpled in his palm along with the note she left. He’s still, not breathing, his eyes caught in wonder at the sight before him.

“Nat…”

“Welcome home, Captain.”


End file.
